Having Lynns test out the fire-resistant coating under supervision turns out to be the perfect way to have the firebug let off steam. Bruce keeps an ear to the ground for a few days, but nothing alarming turns up, and there are no more uncontrolled fires in Arkham.
Bruce spends the rest of his time figuring out how the ring in question actually works. Tomar-Re hadn't given him much to go off of, so Bruce is more or less winging it—something which leaves him feeling more than a little bit on edge. In the end, though, he figures out that, aside from enabling flight, it also manifests whatever he wants, providing he allocates a sufficient amount of stubbornness to the visualisation of the given item.
On the third day, he decides it's high time to make a trip back to the Lantern headquarters. He dons his replacement suit, unwilling to squeeze himself back into the horrible item of clothing that passes for a Lantern uniform, and purses his lips, readying himself for the travel, before he speaks. "Ring, take me to Lantern headquarters."
Within what feels like the blink of an eye, he finds himself standing on unfamiliar ground. Knowing that in reality, the time elapsed is much longer than it appears makes him feel slightly discombobulated, but he shakes himself mentally and blinks a few times to get rid of the lingering white spots in his vision.
When it clears, he finds himself once more on the platform surrounded by towering green buildings with flora bursting from every nook and cranny. Floating through the air are aliens of all shapes and sizes, some in conversation with each other, others simply making their way from one point to another, disappearing into the buildings.
"You new here?" comes a deep voice; and Bruce turns to find a large, bulldog-faced alien in a green and black unitard. His expression must be less blank than usual, because the alien chuckles, and says, "You look amazed by everything—it's clear on your face."
"Ah," Bruce says. "Well, yes, I am new—I was wondering if someone could direct me to a...newcomer's orientation building, or something similar."
The other shakes his head. "Nah, but I can show you the ropes," he offers. "I'm Kilowog. You can follow me—there's a group of trainees I can get you in with." With that, he steps off the platform and floats towards one of the buildings. After a brief moment of hesitation, Bruce follows after him.
They make their way the platform of a short, wide building, and Kilowog stops for a few moments to chat with a stick-like alien, before they continue on into the building.
The inside turns out to be a large, open room covered in mats. Various aliens are sparring, some on the ground and some in the air, using constructs of all shapes and sizes—one is even using what looks similar to a broadsword.
"Here we go!" Kilowog booms, coming to a halt. "Sinestro, I've got a newbie for you—go easy on him, will you?"
The alien in question, Sinestro, turns from where he's watching two other aliens sparring. In appearance, he looks fairly humanoid, save for the pointed ears and dusty rose tint to his skin. He blinks at them, expression blank, taking Bruce in; form tense and poised. Brue offers his hand. "Batman."
"Sinestro," the other says, ignoring the proffered hand, before gesturing to the short, flat-faced alien standing off to his left. "Pair up with Saurin. First to land three hits on the other wins the match."
Saurin nods, making his way over to the mat, and Bruce makes to follow, before Sinestro's raised brow stops him. "Get rid of the cape," he commands, "it will simply get in your way."
"You should listen to him," Kilowog says. "Sinestro doesn't give out advice easily."
Bruce scowls, but grudgingly does as advised, detaching the cloak and folding it before handing it over to Kilowog, and stepping onto the mat.
Saurin turns out to be an excellent sparring partner, the two of them more or less evenly matched—it takes what feels like ages for one of them to land a hit, and even that is only glancing.
In the end, Bruce manages to trip the other with a well-placed block construct, before tapping them with one of the escrima sticks he created, before offering a hand to the alien. Saurin takes it, eyes narrowed, but the frills on the sides of their face are in what Bruce is fairly certain is a neutral position, if their behaviour is anything like frilled animals on Earth.
"Good match," they murmur, voice holding no malice, further supporting the conclusion.
Sinestro gives a curt, half-nod. "Not terrible," he says. "Clearly, you have some type of training, even if not in fighting with hard-light constructs—you managed to adapt and overcome many of the errors I noted in your technique at the start as your sparing match went on."
Bruce huffs. "I'll take that as a resounding ovation," he says, drily. "But you're right—I do have training."
Sinestro blinks once more, looking almost pleased at having been proved right. Behind him, Kilowog is grinning widely. "Great first time," he congratulates, holding out the cape, which Bruce takes, clipping it back into place, comforted by the return of the familiar weight. "Sinestro, how about I take over for you and you show our newest recruit around Oa and regale him with your adventures." It's worded as less of a question and more of a command, and, surprisingly, Sinestro, after a moment of hesitation, steps back from his place before the mats, allowing Kilowog to replace him.
"Follow me," he says, voice flat as ever, turning sharply on his heel and making his way toward the entrance.
Bruce follows after him, managing to catch up before he leaves the building. "What exactly is the mission of the Lantern Corps?" he demands. "No one has explained anything to me. Tomar-Re only told me that the Corps are some kind of galactic protection force, and then sent me on my way back to Earth."
Sinestro's lips curl into something reminiscent of a sneer. "Tomar-Re," he says, something like distaste tinging his tone. "Of course he didn't."
Bruce elects to ignore whatever workplace tension is between the two of them, and instead says, "Since Kilowog more or less put you in charge of me, I think that would probably include actually explaining things."
Sinestro lets out a harsh exhalation. "Fine," he says, sounding incredibly put upon. "The Green Lantern Corps are a galactic peace-keeping force. We also offer aid to planets under attack, and help with rebuilding efforts. Occasionally, there will be a galaxy-wide threat that requires large numbers of Lantern Corps members to tackle, but those are much rarer."
"So approximating based on the threats Earth faces, about once every few months," Bruce hazards.
At that, Sinestro's lips thin into an almost-smile. "Not far off the mark," he admits, rolling his shoulders, some of the tension that's been bound up in his form disappearing. "It didn't used to be like this, but recently, larger threats have become more and more common."
Bruce offers a sympathetic hum; and they lapse into silence. They come to a tall, multi-sided building, and Sinestro leads the way inside, into what appears remarkably similar to a restaurant on Earth. Bruce almost voices his surprise, before tamping it down. He's on an alien planet—stranger things surround him than a surprisingly Earth-like restaurant, because it does turn out to be a restaurant. Reading the menus is a strange experience, as briefly, Bruce manages to catch a glimpse of foreign text before it shimmers like a mirage and turns into English—though the dishes don't seem anything like Earth cuisine.
Sinestro orders something that turns out to be a blue and yellow dish of crab-like creatures, while Bruce settles for something that sounds similar to a meat sandwich on paper, but is actually purple and orange. It tastes good, though, so after his initial hesitation, Bruce finds himself diving into it.
"You implied you were familiar with threats on the galactic magnitude," Sinestro says, bluntly, about halfway through the meal; clearly a question.
Bruce swallows a bite of his sandwich. "I am," he says, and considers not elaborating; but something about Sinestro makes Bruce feel like he can trust him—which, in itself, sets off alarm bells. In the end, though, he decides to take the risk. "I am part of an organisation with a similar aim to the Lantern Corps, albeit far more local—we protect the Earth from various dangers, both internal and external."
Sinestro blinks, long and slow; and Bruce notes, for the first time, that his pupils are slits. "That's why you have such a strange external appearance for a human," he surmises; before elaborating. "None of the images I've seen of humans are quite so...dark. Generally much more flesh-y."
"That's assuming I'm human," Bruce counters. "I could simply be an alien who calls Earth home."
Sinestro lets out a sharp exhalation, this one seeming similar to a laugh. "I had my ring scan you while you were sparring," he says. "You are most certainly human."
"That's definitely cheating," Bruce says.
Sinestro shrugs. "I never claimed to be above that," he says. "So, if you are human—why the strange external appearance? Clearly clothing of some sort, though it looks reinforced."
"It is," Bruce admits. "Like I said, I'm part of a group that protects Earth—for that, though, I need a suit that can stand up to a variety of things."
"And the mask?"
"To protect my identity," Bruce replies; a sardonic smile crossing his lips. "There are quite a number of people who would be more than happy to get rid of me, and should they discover my true identity, then it would be much easier for them to."
The other takes a bite of his meal, looking contemplative. "Batman is an alias, then," he surmises.
Bruce nods. "It is. Now," he adds, "you've asked me questions, so it's my turn now—how were the Lantern Corps formed, and what, specifically, are the responsibilities I would be expected to take on should I decide to remain a member?"
Over the rest of their meal, Sinestro answers Bruce's first two questions, as well as a few more; and Bruce leaves the restaurant with a much better grasp on what, exactly, being a Lantern would entail. Sinestro also reveals, upon prodding, how to get the ring off, much to Bruce's relief. Bruce also, in a moment of morbid curiosity, asks if Sinestro would be willing to spar with him, and, surprisingly enough, the other agrees.
After that, Sinestro and he part ways—Sinestro to a meeting, and Bruce back to Earth.
When he touches down, on the lawn of Wayne Manor, the barest hints of sunlight are warming the night sky to a lighter blue, and Bruce takes a moment to appreciate the beauty, before slipping inside and changing into a pair of civilian clothing, and making his way to the garden.
There, he cuts two white roses from one of the rose bushes, before returning back to the manor and taking one of the cars, driving further out into the country to the Wayne family graveyard.
It's not a huge graveyard, but it has headstones for all of the Waynes starting one hundred and fifty-seven years back, when the first Waynes came to Gotham.
Bruce makes his way to one of the less ornate headstones, which merely has a floral pattern engraved onto it, and stands before it for a few moments, almost frozen in place; suddenly overwhelmed with the avalanche of emotions he usually suppresses.
Finally, he bends down, laying the roses at the head of the grave. "I'm sorry, Jason," he murmurs—the same words he's said for the past three years every time he's visited his son's grave. Then he rises, wiping a tear away from where it's drawing a path down his cheek, and turns, making his way back to the car and to Wayne Manor, feeling emotionally exhausted.